In style

Mili flips through pages of some home magazine, hunting for a fresh angle on her sofa. Brigit hears the talk and stares at her like she just suggested tossing out the bed they fuck on every weekend. "Change it?" she says. "Are you insane? That thing is already perfect. You can straddle me, knees sunk in the cushions, and ride until your thighs shake. I’ve taken you from behind right there, bent over the arm, your breasts pressed into the fabric while I pound you deep and slow. You’ve sat on my face, grinding against my tongue while you hold the backrest for balance. The cushions catch our mess without a sound and we never have to worry about rug burns on the floor. Why would you trade that for some trendy piece that probably squeaks?" Mili hesitates, the magazine still open on her lap, no quick answer ready.